


Son of Deathstroke

by ninjanerd1001



Category: Young Justice (Cartoon)
Genre: Angst and Feels, Birdflash - Freeform, But slightly fluffier than usual, Feels, Gen, Humor, I'm bad at doing tags, Just another Renegade AU, Maybe some Birdflash, Mostly Gen, Mostly humor, Pretty much all it is, Renegade!Dick, Spitfire - Freeform, Tiny bit of Spitfire
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-13
Updated: 2018-12-04
Packaged: 2019-04-21 09:03:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 20,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14281533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninjanerd1001/pseuds/ninjanerd1001
Summary: A young acrobat's parents are killed in a tragic accident. The boy runs from the scene, only to run into a trained mercenary. However, rather than do something mercenary-ish, the black-and-orange clad man takes pity on the boy and decides to raise him.Years later, a contract forces the mercenary to put his protege in a difficult position. The boy has a chance to bond and interact with people his age for the first time in years, but at a difficult price in the end.(In case I made him sound like an OC, this is Dick Grayson here.)





	1. The Fall

**Author's Note:**

> This is pretty much copied word-for-word from Wattpad. The chapters start out short and not very descriptive, but they improve as it goes on.
> 
> So bear with me here.

"Master Bruce, where do you think you're going?" Alfred asked.

The millionaire paused in putting on his jacket. "Haly's Circus. I bought tickets. I don't want them to go to waste."

"Sir, you are in no condition to go out."

"Alfred--"

"You have the flu. You need rest. It is either this or the business meeting tomorrow. And you DID say that was important, did you not?"

"Alfred, I am a grown man, and--"

"One that evidently never learned when to take the night off." The butler raised his eyebrows pointedly.

The millionaire took the hint and handed his jacket to his insistent housekeeper. "Give the tickets to Commissioner Gordon and his daughter. I'm sure they would enjoy it. I hope I don't miss anything bigger than the Graysons' quadruple flip."

xXx

_Snap._

_Crack._

Screaming.

Dick stared at his parents' still forms in disbelief. What-- How-- Were-- Could they--?

Complete thoughts were beyond his capabiliy.

He tried to approach them, shoving through the crowd.

But he couldn't.

He couldn't get close enough. He couldn't get there. He couldn't see them anymore.

He couldn't bring himself to do it.

So he ran.

He left behind the tent and raced away, not paying attention to where he was going.

He was sobbing now, gasping as he blindly stumbled away from the tragedy and horror behind him.

He ran right into him.

xXx

Slade Wilson grabbed the boy who had run into him by the shoulders, taking in the costume he wore and his disheveled and distraught appearance.

The boy tried to pull away, which was understandable. He imagined the Deathstroke uniform looked terrifying in the eyes of a child.

"What's happened?" he asked him.

The boy continued to sob and babbled incomplete thoughts in Romanian. "Mami-- Tati-- cădea **[fell]** \-- întrerupe **[cut]** \-- firele **[wires]** \--" He broke off into more sobbing.

He could glean enough. "Where are they now?"

That just made him cry even harder.

The mercenary finally understood. "Your mother and father are dead?"

The boy nodded, finally trying to rein in his emotions. He was now breathing in shuddering gasps. He made a small noise in the back of his throat that brought forth an emotion the mercenary hadn't felt in years: compassion.

"What do you say I help you?"

"H-help me?" Apparently the acrobat could speak English.

"You say the wires were cut?"

"I saw him! The man who did it! I saw him come out of the tent! But I didn't *hic* tell anyone..." The agony of what Slade knew must be guilt appeared on his face, contorting his expression to suit its needs. He was on the verge of crying again.

Under his mask, Slade had smiled slightly at the hiccup, but was immediately distracted by the pain in the boy's voice and how much he knew the boy needed to stop blaming himself. Now, the smile came back, a bit bigger, as he arrived at a decision. "Well, what do you say we pay him a little visit?"


	2. Five Years Later

Wally West jumped when he heard a yelp coming from the alley beside him. He hesitated, debating over whether to check out the noise, but when he heard labored breathing, his good nature overruled his good judgment. He carefully stepped into the space between the two buildings and allowed his eyes to adjust to the shade cast by the afternoon light.

"Hello?" he called into the quiet.

There was a jostling of garbage cans not far away.

"Is someone there?" He stepped slowly toward the noise.

A dark-haired boy poked his head over the row of cans, then quickly ducked down again.

"Hey, I'm not going to hurt you," the redhead said gently.

"I doubt you could," was the muttered reply.

"Look, I just wanted to talk." He finally rounded the corner to face the teen, who looked not two years younger than Wally himself.

"There isn't anything to talk about." The boy was sitting on the ground, leaning against the wall behind him. He was holding one ankle and was clearly holding back a painful grimace.

"I think there is." Without asking, he plopped down next to the boy and turned slightly toward him. "What happened?"

"Twisted my ankle doing something stupid."

"What?"

"None of your business."

Wally noticed something else. "What happened there?" He tapped his own cheekbone.

The stranger self-consciously put a hand to his face. "Fell."

"Are you sure? I have plenty of experience falling--"

"I'm sure you do."

"--and I'm pretty sure you didn't get that big of a bruise in that shape from _falling_."

"Well, I did. So there," he said with finality.

"Is it your dad?" Wally asked after a brief pause.

"I told you, I fell! Can't you just leave well enough alone?"

"Except it's _not_ well enough."

"Oh, shut up. What do you know?"

"I know that it isn't healthy to be in this sort of condition." He noticed that there was a makeshift splint on the ankle that the teen had been holding. "You do that yourself?" he asked.

"Yeah. My... uh... father taught me how to years ago."

"Cool."

"Yeah. He's taught me a lot."

"Like what?"

"Everything I know. How to make a splint, how to stop a wound from bleeding, how to hotwire a car, how to fight."

"Do you need to fight a lot?"

"Not usually. I'm more of a sneak than a head-on guy."

"Does he hurt you?"

"Nah. Not anymore. I'm better than I used to be."

Wally's head was buzzing with questions. "Not anymore? And better at what?"

The boy stood up abruptly, wincing slightly as he put weight on his injured ankle. "Aaaand that's all the time we have for today, folks! Tune in tomorrow, same Bat-Time, same Bat-Channel!" He walked away briskly.

Wally stood up and ran after him. "Wait, where are you going?"

"Home. De-- Dad'll be wondering where I am. Don't worry your pretty little head." The dark-haired teen turned to the stranger that he had, for some reason, decided to trust (which was a terrrible idea, by the way). "And I didn't have to tell you anything. Don't push your luck."

"But--"

"See ya never, Blaze."

xXx

Deathstroke was waiting for him when he arrived back at their present abode, an apartment in the worst part of town.

He was always waiting.

"How was your walk?"

"It was great. I met this hot girl, and now I've got a date tonight!" He grabbed an apple and sat on the kitchen counter.

"Who's the lucky girl?" He knew not a word of it was true, but wanted to see what tale his apprentice would weave this time.

"She's this awesome brunette. She gets my jokes and she's a total babe! Like, drop-dead gorgeous. Her eyes, man-- they just suck you right in. She just blows me away! She's short, but not on cash, though. She is filthy rich. That's a plus."

"When's the date?"

"Eight o'clock tonight. We're going to the carnival."

"The carnival, eh? What do you plan on doing there?"

The teen took a bite of the fruit, not bothering to swallow before he spoke. "The usual. Ride a giant wheel in circles, play rigged games that are impossible to win, eat expensive packaged fat and sugar, and then--" He leaned toward his mentor as if to tell him a secret-- "We're going in the Tunnel of Love!"

"Oh, really?"

"Yabsolutely!"

"Even though the carnival is closed this time of year?"

The younger's face fell. "Oh, YEAH! I knew there was SOMETHING I was forgetting. I'll just postpone until it opens."

"Did you also forget about our meeting tonight?"

"Of course not."

"Mmm-hm."

Suddenly, Deathstroke lunged forward with his katana, aiming for the apple in the teen's hand.

In response, the apprentice just somersaulted backwards off the counter and out of reach, munching on the fruit.

"Tsk tsk. Did you really think my guard was that far down? Around you, no less. Psh, I'm not THAT bad." He lifted it over his head for a moment as a dagger flew past where it had been, then took another bite. "Are we playing keep-away now?" he asked around his mouthful of apple. "Because I can play keep-away, if that's what you want."

Thus that day's round of keep-away ensued


	3. Meetings

Deathstroke and his apprentice waited by the arranged warehouse for their contractor to arrive. The teen paced restlessly around.

"Stop moving," his mentor chastised.

"I'm a teenager. I can't. I'm too energetic, and bored." In actuality, he was trained to sit still for a full day without moving an inch. But that didn't mean that he wanted to.

"Then make yourself useful and go up on the roof. Watch for complications. Only step in if you have to." The younger ran off to do as he was told.

After about fifteen minutes of waiting (they'd shown up half an hour early), their previously unknown contractor revealed themself. Or, more accurately, themselves.

Five dark-clad men and women stepped into view. It was impossible to tell who spoke.

"We see you did not back out, Deathstroke."

"And why would I? Ten million is ten million. And even if it's as hard as you say, whatever it is, I enjoy a challenge."

"Very well. You accept?"

Deathstroke's eye narrowed with impatience.

"Your target is the Justice League."

The mercenary managed to look surprised, skeptical, and impressed all at once. "Bold move. Lofty goals, much?"

"Hardly. Because you won't be targeting them directly."

"Oh?"

"You'll be infiltrating their covert team of young heroes to take them down from the inside. The Justice League will be crippled, and then we'll make our move."

Deathstroke looked them over for a moment. "You're new in this game." It was a statement, not a question. "You're trying to get a good handhold."

"We are, indeed, working to earn our place in the world."

"Even newbies like you should know that I wouldn't be able to infiltrate that team." Even from the roof, the suspicion in his tone could be clearly heard through the skepticism. He had an idea where they were going with this, and he didn't like it.

"That is why your apprentice will be the one to do it. You may want to summon him from wherever he's hiding now."

The teenaged mercenary almost fell off the roof. What? Him? Infiltrating the _Justice League_?

Anger crept into Deathstroke's tone. "And what makes you think he would do it?"

"He is ideal. And your type of mercenaries tend to have a sort of... pride. You all have something that you take pride in doing. The clean getaway, the excessive body count, whatever pleases you the most. And some pride themselves in never resisting a challenge."

"And you think anyone that I personally trained would fall for that trick? Just taking a job, only so he can say he never turned down a challenge?"

The topic of discussion suddenly appeared next to his master. "I can do it. Like you said, ten million is ten million."

"This will take a lot. Planning and--"

"Months of earning their trust, I know. Plus a ton of other details. But I already have a plan. Sort of. Just hear me out."

After a minute's consideration, Deathstroke reluctantly nodded.

And the plan was laid out.

xXx

He raced along the rooftops. The cops would show up to the mess behind him, and the first stage of his plan would be well on its way. Meanwhile, he was on his way to have a few meetings with well-known murderers and gangsters in one of the most crime-ridden cities in the country.

Gotham. Even with a dark masked crusader cleaning up the streets, it still was filthy with scum of all backgrounds. Perfect for a guy looking to make a buck. And he had just guaranteed that there wouldn't be anyone to clean _him_ up for a while.

He arrived at the Penguin's main club not five minutes later. He let himself in and made his way to the big man's table.

As he stepped up to where the mob head sat, a man who he could only assume was either a bodyguard or a bouncer stepped in his way. "How did you even get in here, kid? And what are you wearing? Halloween isn't for months."

"I got in by walking. And what I'm wearing... what about it? It's my uniform." The man raised his eyebrows skeptically, then tapped his temple with a pointed look. The teen realized he was talking about the mask. "Oh. This is just a precaution. Almost as much of one as this." He pulled his katana out of the sheath on his back. "May I speak with your employer now, or do you need a demonstration?"

The muscular guard held his hands up in mock surrender and called over his shoulder, "Hey, boss. This kid wants to talk to you."

Penguin grinned and nodded, his curiosity clearly showing in his eyes. "Let's hear him out."

The young mercenary sheathed his blade and stepped forward with a slight nod of gratitude. "I'd like to do something for you. Not anything in particular. I'm not picky. But I seem to have a lack of money, and you seem to be the person to go to about that kind of thing."

Penguin regarded him with interest. "Aren't you a bit young for this kind of thing?"

He shook his head lightly. "Nope. So what do you have for me?"

"Depends on what you can do."

"Just about anything. I've guarded convoys, trailed people of interest, even eliminated a few problems. Depends on the day."

"And what day do you think today is?"

"Got any high-value shipments that need watching? I'm in the mood for a guard job."

"Come to think of it, I do. However..."

"Let me guess. I have to somehow show you that I'm not a joke. All right, do you want him dead or alive? Never mind, he's your guard, and smarter than most, too. You don't want him dead. Un momento, por favor." He tapped the burly man on the shoulder to get him to turn him around, and a split second later, he had flipped over him, flipped him over on his stomach, and pinned him there with a hand around his wrist lifting his arm uncomfortably and a foot planted firmly in his back. "Happy?" he asked.

Penguin nodded, and gestured for him to release the guard. "You're hired. Have you a name?"

"I suppose these days, a good name for me would be Renegade."


	4. Meeting the Team

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Renegade has his first encounter with the Team.

Renegade watched over the shipment of weapons being unloaded at the Gotham docks. They weren't expecting trouble, but one could never be sure. Over the past week, he had earned Penguin's respect four times over, and with Batman mostly occupied by The Distraction, he practically had free reign.

All the guns were off the ship and were almost completely loaded onto trucks when the first green arrow embedded itself in a crate and exploded. Renegade grinned from his perch on the crane overlooking the shipment as the rest of the team of young heroes revealed themselves. Finally, a bit of action.

As they slowly worked their way through the goons moving the guns, he decided it was time to intervene.

He quickly made his way down the arm of the crane. Just before they got to the trucks, he threw knockout darts into Artemis and the water guy-- Aqualad, he remembered from the files. Before their teammates even noticed, he had already gassed the Martian and Kryptonian, leaving only--

"HEY!" Kid Flash yelled as he skidded to a stop. "Who the heck do you think you--" He found himself yelling at empty air. No one was there. "What the--"

Renegade whacked him over the head with the butt of one of the guns he was supposed to be guarding. "Sorry about the concussion," he apologized as the speedster crumpled to the ground. "Your metabolism would've worked gas or injections out of your system in a heartbeat. And I figured you might want to be spared the indignity of being awake for this." He gestured to two of the men to come forward. "Put 'em in a net. Oh, put it over the water, that'll be funny. Then hurry up and finish the shipment. I wanna see what they do when they wake up."

xXx

Kid Flash yelped as he felt something sharp poke him, waking him from oblivion. Artemis glared at him as she paused in sawing through the ropes holding them above--

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING? We'll all fall in the water!" he yelled.

"I'm getting us out. Everyone else seems ready to get out of here. And if you don't want to swim, just grab onto the net." She finished just as the net fell out from under them. She held onto it as Miss Martian hovered and the three boys fell into the water. Aqualad was fine; if anything, he was (heh) in his element. Superboy landed close to the docks and quickly pulled himself out. But Wally was left floundering awkwardly to shore. By the time he hauled himself heavily onto the hard concrete, he was shivering hard.

"Man, why'd you have to do that?" Wally whined as he vibrated to warm himself up. "At least a little more warning!"

Renegade chuckled as he watched them bicker from his perch on the rooftops. Artemis and Kid Flash sounded like an old married couple. He totally shipped them. Arteflash? Kid Fartemis? He would come up with it eventually.

"Who was that?" Wally finally asked after a bit more arguing. "I didn't get a good look at him."

"How do you know it was a him?" Artemis asked.

"Why must you make such a big deal out of this?"

"Enough," Aqualad interjected. "What  _did_ you see of our attacker?"

Renegade leaned forward, furrowing his eyebrows slightly. This was what he needed to hear.

"I didn't really see much. I mean, he was small. Not like a midget, but he was pretty short. And he didn't really seem like an adult. Like, he was our age or something. But I don't remember hearing about a teen villain."

"Well, I have," Artemis crossed her arms. "It's mostly just rumors, since he doesn't really do much head-on stuff. I've heard so many names for him I don't even know which one to use."

"What are some of them?" Wally asked.

"Mostly Jack stuff. Jack of Spades, Jack Frost, Jack of All Trades, Jack of All Spades, Jack-in-the-Box. But I've heard a few others. Like, um... the Stroke of Death. Apprentice of Deathstroke. Divider. Uh... I think he's been called Renegade in the past."

"Wow. This guy needs to make up his mind. But what's up with all the Jack names? Think that's his real name?"

The teenaged mercenary grinned. "No, it's because you don't know Jack," he murmured to himself. He ducked as Superboy glanced his way.  _Got to watch out for that super hearing,_  he thought.

For a moment, he considered ditching the Plan and improvising here and now. But the Plan was there for a reason, and waiting a day could save them months in the long run.

"Is that all you know?" Miss Martian asked.

"Yeah, just about."

"That's IT?" Wally exclaimed in disbelief. "That's all you know?!"

"What, you think I met the guy?" she asked defensively.

 _Funny story,_  he thought to himself.  _You did._  He'd met her when Sportsmaster, her father, and Deathstroke had worked together on a contract. They hadn't spoken much, but they'd exchanged a few words and sized each other up long enough. If they were to meet again, they would recognize each other, as Renegade had upon seeing her photograph in the files.

Chuckling to himself one last time at the speedster's misfortune, he stepped over the peak of the roof and wandered off to find accommodations for the night.


	5. Plans in Motion

The assassins were gaining on him. Not much longer, and they would be upon Renegade, beating him within an inch of his life. 

It was all part of the plan, but that didn't mean he had to like it.

As he reached the arranged rooftop, he stopped dead in his tracks. He drew his katana and faced his pursuers.

Renegade would be beaten, but not without a fight.

The first assassin struck. He deflected the blow, then cut the tendon inside their elbow. They wouldn't be rejoining the fight anytime soon.

He blocked an overhead strike with his katana in one hand as he used the wrist guard on the other to deflect two shurikens thrown at his abdomen. He twisted around, kicking the blocked assassin in the stomach and launching two explosive discs at the range attackers. There would only be hand-to-hand combat here.

As he fought, he realized that he would have to lose eventually for the plan to succeed. He hated to, but he started letting them land blows, slowly at first, until eventually, he wasn't letting them. 

He couldn't stop them.

Finally, after a long struggle, Renegade fell to his knees. The only remaining assassin fell upon him mercilessly, pummeling him, beating him.

It was all part of the plan.

That didn't make it any less painful.

xXx

Deathstroke watched as the last assassin disappeared from view. As a mercenary, Renegade had been through all manner of difficulties. As an orphan, he had a hard time connecting with others. But as the apprentice of Deathstroke, he had endured beatings, being used as leverage and bait, and interrogations, all before his fourteenth birthday. But Deathstroke had never  _wanted_ any of these things to happen. And now, he'd hated seeing his apprentice reduced to just another contract fulfilled. But it was a necessary evil. 

It was the Plan.

But as Deathstroke stared at his apprentice's still form, battered and bruised, the mercenary hoped he could live with himself once all this played out. And that his apprentice could.

xXx

Batman cautiously approached the still figure on the rooftops. Whoever it was, they didn't seem to be doing well, but his sense of caution overruled his sense of urgency.

As he drew nearer, it became clear that the figure was a boy dressed in costume. Batman rolled him over onto his back and saw that it was the upstart who had made his move in Gotham while the dark knight was preoccupied. After another moment's thought, he realized that it was none other than the apprentice of Deathstroke.

Without another second of consideration, Batman scooped up the young mercenary in his arms and carried him off to where he could be treated safely.

xXx

Renegade's head shot up. For a moment, he feared that he was on the Table again. But he quickly realized that the Table didn't have pillows, sheets, or a heartrate monitor. He was strapped down in much the same way as he would be were he on the Table, with his wrists and ankles in straps with another over his lower abdomen, but these were padded.

He pulled slightly against the restraints as his eyes roamed around his surroundings. Standard medical equipment. Two clocks exactly in sync. One door. No windows. Two other beds. And a security camera pointed right at him.

He set his head down with a smug grin. That meant they would be in to see him any minute now.

Sure enough, not thirty seconds later, Batman walked in through the door with his usual glowering demeanor. 

"Heya," Renegade greeted him. "How's the Dark Knight been holding up? Oh, nice job exonerating yourself. I thought I did a decent job of framing you. Actually, I  _did_  do a decent job. You just ruined it."

Batman's eyes narrowed. "That was you?"

"Yep. Add it to my charges: Framing the Caped Crusader. Not that it'll make much of a dent in my sentence. I've probably already got, what, three hundred years? Not that I'll be in juvie very long. They have terrible security."

"You wouldn't be going to the Juvenile Detention Center."

"Oh? Do you have another place for troubled teens like  _moi_?"

"Belle Reve."

Renegade's face paled slightly and he lifted his head abruptly. "But I'm just a minor! That can't be legal!"

"Just skimming over your record, you have committed four different kinds of murder, you've broken into and stolen from more museums and banks than I'd care to count, you've hacked into every government database most people can think of, and you've stolen a hundred and thirteen people's identities. And those are just the things you've done on your own agenda."

"A hundred and fourteen. You forgot the Prime Minister."

The eyes narrowed again. "Needless to say, the vote was almost unanimous. You are too much of a threat to be sent anywhere else."

His head sank back down on the pillow. While he was proud to be considered that big of a threat... Belle Reve? He'd been involved in capturing a decent number of the inhabitants there, whether they knew it or not. It was purely elimination of competition, but he still was involved. And even if he hadn't been involved in their arrests, he still had plenty of rivals that would be more than willing to make him disappear.

He would be lucky to last a day in there.

Before he could say anything, Batman spoke. "There is an alternative. We could use someone with your criminal and technical know-how on our team."

He suddenly remembered the Plan. Feigning ignorance, he asked, "The Justice League? They have you."

"Not that team. Keep in mind that if you  _do_ join, you'll be closely monitored so you don't escape. And you'll spend a week working with me first so you at least understand the principals of its inner workings. But you won't go to prison."

"What team, then? The Navy SEALs?"

"That will be disclosed if you agree."

"And what if I do, then? Will I have to wear one of those probation anklets?"

"We will be keeping track of you, yes. But you will gain more privileges the more you cooperate." Seeing the teen deep in thought, he stood up. "I'll give you some time to think about it." He left, leaving the mercenary alone with his thoughts.

Not that Renegade had any considering to do.


	6. Terms and Conditions

Batman waited for the team in the briefing room. As Artemis and Wally walked in, arguing, he turned to the assembled heroes, who immediately quieted down.

"You're going to have a new teammate," he announced.

Everyone started talking.

"What?!"

"Another teammate?"

"Who is it?"

"Why do we need another member?"

"I hope it's a babe."

Everyone stopped talking and glared at Wally. "What? Can't I have a preference?"

Aqualad turned to Batman. "When will we meet this new member?"

"A week. After I've assessed his skills."

Aqualad creased his eyebrows questioningly. "A week? That's a ways off. With Artemis and Miss Martian, no one even told us in advance."

"I'm telling you this now because he could quite possibly be... unruly."

"Who is it already?!" Wally yelled.

"I'm not at liberty to tell you until I'm sure he's going to be joining. It's quite possible that he's not suited for this line of work."

"I thought you said we  _were_ going to have a new teammate. Now we  _might_?" Artemis gestured slightly with her arms as she spoke.

"Like I said, I'm not sure he'll be able to meet our expectations here."

"Is that it?" Wally asked. "Is that all you're going to tell us? Because if it is, then I'm going to go eat all of Megan's cookies." When Batman nodded, he sped off to enjoy the sugary treats.

The rest of the team left, leaving Batman to go to the medical bay to get the renegade mercenary ready for his training.

xXx

Renegade pulled at his restraints for what must have been the millionth time. He was bored almost to the point of screaming. Scratch that, he already  _had_. He stopped about ten minutes ago, and he didn't put it past himself to do it again.

Just as he drew in a deep breath, Batman walked in.

"BATMAN!" Renegade shouted in relief. "Impeccable timing! Can we go now? I've been waiting for AGES!"

"It's been a week since you got here. Not even close to  _ages._ "

"But I've been ready to go since  _always_!"

Ignoring the inaccuracy of that statement, Batman made no move to free the young mercenary from his restraints. "You were comatose when you got here, with thirteen broken bones, a concussion, and every kind of bruise and laceration, and yet you're already almost completely healed," he said with an obvious question in his tone.

"Oh, yeah. About that. Funny story. But if I told you, I'd have to kill you."

"You're enhanced like your mentor."

"Oh, you  _do_ know. That makes life easier. Yeah, good ol' Deathstroke decided to have a kid who could keep up with him. He didn't make me as powerful as himself, naturally, but I've still got  _amazing_  reflexes and regeneration, if I do say so myself."

After a moment of silence (and probably serious reconsideration), Batman pulled out the teen's gear and set it on the bedside table. "Before we go, let's lay out some ground rules. You'll be wearing this--" he held up a small band-- "so you don't run off." He clicked it on his small wrist. "If you ever go farther than fifty feet from me or the Mountain, it will deliver an electric shock powerful enough to forestall your mentor. Have no doubt that it will stop you."

"Duly noted."

"And I don't permit swearing. If you do, you'll get a shock. Not as strong, but it will hurt."

"What, you mean like 'poop'? Or 'crap'? Or did you mean 'sh-- _ow_!"

"I anticipated that one. Normally it goes off  _after_ you say it."

"OW! What is that thing, a mini bark collar?"

A small smile crept across the Dark Knight's lips. "Same concept."

"That hurts my dignity. And my arm." He flexed his wrist. "Can we get going now? I'm stir crazy."

Batman stepped forward and started to loosen his restraints, then paused. "If you try to escape, there  _will_  be consequences."

Renegade made a rolling motion with his hand in a  _get on with it_ gesture _._ "Yes, I'm aware of that. Please just let me go."

With some apparent reluctance, the Bat freed the mercenary. Renegade sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed, rubbing his bare wrists. He glanced longingly at the shut door for a moment, then saw the Batglare directed at him and quickly looked away. He started to pull on his gear as Batman waited.

As he picked up his utility belt to put it on, he noticed it was significantly lighter. He ripped open the pouches and found, to his dismay, that almost all of his preferred weapons were replaced with-- he shuddered at the word--  _nonlethals._

"WHAT?!" he exclaimed in outrage. "You-- How could you? That's my stuff! How am I supposed to do any of the stuff I'm sure you intend me to do without my stuff?"

"You have  _stuff_. It's just stuff that you're going to have to get used to if you're going to be on the team."

Renegade grabbed a batarang (blunted, of course) and waved it in Batman's face. "How am I supposed to work with this load of--" he paused for a moment-- "garbage?" he finished hesitantly.

"Good. You're already catching on to the rules." Renegade could've sworn he saw the Dark Knight smile for the second time in two minutes. "And you work with them by practicing, which you'll get to do when we go out on patrol, and that will only happen if you stop throwing a hissy fit and put your belt on."

Renegade clicked his belt on with a grumpy "hmph." He didn't care if he was acting like a three-year-old. It wasn't right to take away his gear, especially not replace it with the nonlethal...  _trash_  he now had to work with. And he couldn't even cuss about it.

"Can we  _please_  go now? I need to beat somebody up." Batman frowned slightly. "Fine, fine, I won't go berserk. You have my word."

Batman turned to the door and started walking. "And how much is that worth?"

Renegade didn't answer as he jogged to catch up.


	7. Working with the Bat

Batman looked down at the waterfront lot from his vantage point on the warehouse roof. He peered through his binoculars at where the arms deal was set to take place. There was a huge delivery scheduled for that night, and he wasn't going to miss it.

"How many mosquitoes does it take to screw in a light bulb?"

He ignored the question, focusing on the task at hand.

"The real question is, how'd they get in there?" A fit of raucous laughter.

These juvenile jokes were really starting to grate on the Dark Knight's nerves. The only problem was, he didn't know where to draw the line.

"Really? No reaction? Okay, how about this: Why does Batman brush his teeth?"

Two sleek cars and a large truck pulled into the lot, signaling him to stand up and put the binoculars away.

"So he doesn't get bat breath!" The obnoxious apprentice was meandering around the rooftop, backflipping, walking on his hands, and doing any number of other random acrobatic acts. He purposefully fell over. "Are we moving now?"

"Yes. So get up and get ready."

"FINALLY!" Renegade stood up. "Let's go beat up some bad guys!"

Batman gave him the signature Batglare. "Make sure--"

Not particularly cowed by the dirty look, he finished, "Yeah, yeah, don't kill anybody, don't maim anybody too bad, watch out for high-tech guns. C'mon, let's go!" He leapt off the roof, followed quickly by his irritated mentor.

As they fought the gun dealers, Renegade rambled incessantly. "Ooh, look at this guy! His face is all, 'Die now, hero scum!' Oh, now it's just 'I'm unconscious.' Ha, this guy thinks he can shoot me. That's a laugh. Hey, I'm actually not too bad with escrima sticks. Though I'd be better with my katana. What say you, unconscious arms dealer? Yeah, didn't think so. Hey, Batsy! If I'm good enough, can I have my katana back?"

At first, Batman had no idea what to think of it. He would tell Renegade to stop, since he was distracting himself with it, but he _wasn't_ distracting himself. If anything, Batman had come to realize over the course of the night, it almost seemed to _help_ him, keep his mind flowing as quickly and fluidly as his body. In addition, it distracted their opponents. As annoying as it was, Batman would have to let the chatter slide.

As they finally beat the last dealer, Renegade picked up one of the guns. "Wow. Check out this beauty! She's HUGE! Not to mention shiny."

Batman inspected the large, futuristic-looking gun cradled in the ex-mercenary's arms. "This looks like alien tech," he analyzed.

"You could say that. Hey, I wonder what it does!" He took aim at the nearby warehouse.

"Renegade!" Batman snapped, narrowly stopping him from possibly blowing up the warehouse.

At the sound of his name, he lowered the gun and frowned slightly. "As fitting as that name is now, it's kinda... meh. I don't like it. How about... I dunno... Bat-lad? Ew, no. Never mind. I'll think of one eventually." He ceded possession of the gun to the Dark Knight. "So what do we do with all these illegal weapons? Keep 'em?"

"We give them to the GCPD and STAR labs for analysis."

"You don't even keep one for your cool toy collection?" He got the twenty-third Batglare for that night. With the frequency of which he was receiving them, he barely even noticed.

"No, I don't. Go back to the Batmobile. I'll call Gordon and get him to send men for these guns. The question is, what were these men doing with this kind of advanced, possibly alien, tech?"

"I don't know, but it's cool as--" He barely stopped himself in time to avoid a shock. "It's the cat's pajamas."

"Not cussing doesn't mean using extinct idioms."

"I have to do _something_ to distinguish myself." He walked off to the Batmobile.

As he sat in the high-tech car, he pondered his pseudonym predicament. He _liked_ Renegade, but it didn't really suit him. He could go back to Jack of All Trades... no, that was lame. He needed something _original._

An idea came to mind, but he wasn't entirely sure it would have the best reception by lowlifes everywhere. Plus, he was only vaguely aware of where it came from.

Batman sat down next to him and pulled away from the waterfront. They had been out for most of the night, and Batman figured Renegade had more than proved himself for the time being.

As they neared the outskirts of town, Batman tinted the windows so they couldn't see outside.

"Uh, I don't have much experience in this department, but don't you have to see to drive?" the teen asked, somewhat worriedly.

The Dark Knight looked at him for a moment, then took his hands off the wheel. Seeing the younger's mouth drop open, he smiled ever so slightly. "It has automatic steering," he explained to the bewildered teen.

Renegade crossed his arms and pouted. "That's cheating." As an afterthought, he added, "All this just so I can't see where we're going? Sheesh."

xXx

After a while of driving (no one really kept track of how long), they slowed, and Batman un-tinted the glass. Renegade looked out and saw what the big fuss about the Batcave was about.

They were in an enormous cavern filled with enough of high-tech doodads to keep an ADHD kid (like Renegade liked to consider himself to be) busy for a lifetime. A huge computer filled up an entire wall. Everywhere were racks of batarangs and other bat-themed weapons. And, Renegade noted, a staircase in the back led up to somewhere on the surface.

He got out of the Batmobile, gaping at the surreal sight around him. After a moment of taking it in, he laughed in amazement. "Okay, you know all those times I called you lame?"

"You didn't."

"Not out loud, anyway. Well, I take it all back. This place is the BOMB!"

"I'm sure it is," an unfamiliar voice echoed around them. Renegade whirled around and saw a man standing by the staircase carrying a tray with sandwiches. "And I assume you're the Renegade fellow Batman's taken in." He had a strong British accent, he noted.

Renegade didn't respond. He stared at the man, taking in his apparent age and tidy appearance. He also noticed the guarded look, the tall way he carried himself, and the ever-so-slight distrust in his eyes. However, he also saw the care in those same eyes, and the quiet strength that seemed to emanate from him. This was an interesting man, to be sure.

After a solid minute of taking in the stranger, he finally broke the silence by addressing Batman with, "You have a butler?"

"Renegade, meet Alfred."

After another moment, the teen extended a hand. "Pleasure."

Alfred raised an eyebrow slightly in surprise. Then he shook hands with the ex-mercenary, carefully balancing the tray in his left hand. "Would you be wanting a sandwich then?"

He looked at them. "What kind?"

"Turkey."

Renegade shrugged and took one. "Sure, thanks." He took a bite and nodded his approval. He looked like he was going to say something else, but took another bite instead. Before long, he was on his third sandwich and still hadn't stopped.

Batman took one for himself and worked hard to keep a straight face as he watched the teen start a fourth. "Do you like them?" he asked. The only reply he got was a nod.

Finally, after the fifth sandwich, Renegade seemed to have had enough. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand as he asked, "Mm, so, are you gonna tell me who you are, since I'm gonna be staying with you?"

"Soon enough. First, I have a change of clothes for you. They should be your size." He handed him a pile of clothing.

Renegade looked at the clothes in his hands. "This is _pretty boy_ stuff. A sweater vest? Who wears sweater vests?"

"You'll get more clothes eventually. That's just for tomorrow. There are also some pajamas for tonight, since I doubt you want to sleep in that outfit."

"And what if I do?" Renegade asked rebelliously.

Ignoring the question, Batman walked toward the stairs, and, excited by the prospect of finding out the identity of Batman, Renegade raced after him.

They emerged from behind a grandfather clock into what seemed to be a large hall of sorts. Renegade pursed his lips in concentration as he took in his surroundings. Nice paintings, expensive furniture and decorations... within reasonable distance of Gotham... based on the size of the hallway alone, probably a mansion... which meant this guy was probably a millionaire or billionaire.... which could only mean...

"HOLY CRAP YOU'RE BRUCE WAYNE!" Renegade yelled. "WHAT?! Holy crap. What the what. Holy mother of guacamole... you..."

The billionaire removed his cowl. "Not bad." He started off down the hallway. "Let's get you to your room."

Renegade ran to catch up. "Holy... Walter... Wait, so that one conspiracy site was right. Man, that one had the least evidence of all the ones I've seen. Heck, George Clooney had more evidence of being Batman than you! And he's, like, George Clooney!"

"You look into it that much?" Bruce asked.

"Nah, just, like, once a month. Man, when I tell those guys--"

Bruce turned to him. "You aren't telling anyone."

"Aw, man. Great. I'm sworn to secrecy. Wait, I am? I never made any promises."

Bruce-- _the_ Bruce Wayne-- was suddenly right in his face. "No, but if you tell anyone, I will personally ensure that you are very sorry."

Renegade recoiled slightly in surprise, eyes wide. "Yup. Sure. Point taken. Not telling anyone. My lips are sealed." He mimed zipping them shut, locking them, and throwing away the key.

"Good." He continued walking. Reaching a door, he stopped, opening it. "This is your room."

Renegade peered inside, taking in its contents. There was an elegant four-poster bed against the wall with two nightstands, each with its own small lamp. There were two doors inside, one of which was open, revealing a rather large bathroom. As he stepped inside, the plush carpet squished under his feet.

"I'll leave you to yourself. Good night." Bruce smiled slightly (that was kind of weird to see) and made as if to leave.

"Hey, Bruce?" Renegade asked.

He paused. "Yes?"

"Uh.... well.... thanks. For, you know. Taking me in and all."

The billionaire smiled again, bigger this time. "It's my pleasure."

"And Bruce?"

"Yes?"

"I don't suppose you could help me decide on a name? I have one, but I just don't know about it."

"I can help, but you have to choose it for yourself."

"Oh. I'll ask you tomorrow, then."

"See you tomorrow." Finally, he left, shutting the door behind him.

After a moment of letting it all soak in, Renegade leapt onto the bed and yanked his shoes off. He quickly stood up, wiggling his toes in the soft carpet. He laughed childishly and hopped around, reveling in the simple pleasure of the plush red carpet as he gradually took off the rest of his uniform and changed into the pajamas. Before long, he was rolling around on the floor and laughing like a maniac in just the pajamas and his domino mask.

Once he got ahold of himself, he stood up and went into the bathroom. Using the mirror to see what he was doing, he slowly wedged his fingers under the edge of his mask. Taking a deep breath, he carefully peeled the fabric off, wincing slightly as it caught slightly on the tender flesh of his face. It had been too long since he last took it off.

He looked at his maskless face in the mirror. "You... are one handsome devil," he told himself. He stared at his eyes. They were radiant sapphire spheres. "Schnazzy." He washed his face in the sink and laughed at the sheer unnecessary size of the bathroom, then exited into the main part of his bedroom.

He set the mask on the nightstand nearest the door and laid down on the bed, bundling himself tightly in the blankets.

"Ha. This is actually happening." He peered at the ceiling from his cozy blanket burrito. "Bruce Wayne is Batman. And I'm living with him for who-knows-how-long. This. Is. Gonna. Be. Fun."

He suddenly realized how tired he was, and he freed an arm from his bundle to turn off the lamps.

It wasn't long before he was fast asleep, dreaming of his future as Robin.


	8. Brainstorms

Renegade suddenly remembered why he hated comfortable beds.

With lumpy beds, there isn't much you want to stay in. With the floor, you just have to stand up. And those scary ancient mattresses with the springs that feel like they could come out and impale you at any given moment? You can't WAIT to get off of those things. But with comfortable beds, you could just stay there in heavenly, cozy comfort until kingdom come.

And worst of all?

He could smell bacon frying.

"Being spoiled sucks," he muttered to no one in particular as he reluctantly swung his legs over the side of the bed-- by far the worst torment of recent events-- and got up.

He didn't bother to get into the clothes Bruce had given him the previous night before he went downstairs to the kitchen, following the beautiful smells wafting around the house.

"Good morning, young sir. Will you be wanting some breakfast?" Alfred lifted a slice of bacon out of the pan he was using and placed in on a plate piled with the stuff. On the counter next to it was a plate piled high with pancakes, and next to that was a platter with eggs and toast. "I wasn't sure what you wanted, so I took the liberty of making all that you young people seem to be enjoying these days."

Renegade grinned. "Wow. All this for me? I would've been happy with a couple Pop-Tarts." He took the plate with the eggs and placed a stack of pancakes and several slices of bacon on it.

Alfred placed another slice of bacon on his plate reprimandingly. "Which is exactly the kind of food I discourage,  _especially_ for breakfast. You require  _sustenance_  for the kind of lifestyle you lead."

Renegade plopped down at the counter indifferently and dumped a ridiculous amount of syrup on the pancakes. Seeing them sufficiently saturated in the sticky stuff, he took an enormous bite. His eyes grew wide, then closed in pleasure, as he chewed slowly and swallowed. "You make awesome pancakes. Wintergr-- I mean, this guy I knew made them just like this." He promptly stuffed in another mouthful of breakfast food and didn't speak until Bruce came in, dressed in what was probably casual attire for a billionaire but wasn't for just about anyone else.

"Good morning, Renegade."

"Mmm-nng," he mumbled back.

Bruce grabbed a slice of toast and sat down next to him, watching him eat. "It's not going anywhere, you know," he joked.

"Mm-hm. Pah deh ornduce."

Bruce raised his eyebrows. "What was that?"

Renegade swallowed and pointed at the pitcher on far the end of the counter. "Pass the orange juice." He took a bite of egg and toast.

Bruce didn't move except to tilt his head. "Is there something else you need to say?" he asked hintingly.

Renegade stopped mid-chew. He thought for a moment, then said without swallowing, "You mean the 'magic word', don't you?" He took in the pointed look and pouted. When the billionaire made no move to pass the juice, he let out an aggravated sigh. "Fine." He hopped off the stool and stomped around the counter to grab it himself. He poured himself a glass and chugged half of it before continuing to eat.

Bruce looked disbelievingly and amusedly to Alfred, who just shook his head in amazement that someone would go so far out of their way to avoid saying  _please._

When Renegade seemed to be slowing down in his feasting, Bruce prompted, "You said you wanted help with a name?"

The teen swallowed hard.  _I did? Of course I did. I_ _couldn't_ _keep my stupid mouth shut. Well, no going back now._ "Oh, yeah. I guess I did. Well, I mean, Renegade is pretty well-known in the criminal world. I need a new name, a new look, to go with the hero gig."

Bruce nodded. "Do you have anything in particular in mind?"

Renegade scratched the back of his head and smiled self-consciously.  _Crap,_ he thought definitively. "Well, I was kind of... um... I guess I was thinking..."  _Crap, do_ _I_ _say it?_ _Should_ _I_ _just say_ _I_ _have a few ideas?_ _It's_ _so stupid... do_ _I_ _tell him? And what do_ _I_ _say if he asks why? I. Am. Going. To die._

Bruce raised his eyebrows. "Yes?"

_Aw, ssssssshhhh............oot. You know what? YOU KNOW WHAT? Let's see what happens if_ _I_ _tell him._ _What's_ _he gonna do? Judge me?_

_Here goes nothing._

"....Robin?" he finished uncertainly.

Bruce considered it for a moment. "Is there a reason for  _that_ name in particular?"

Renegade shrugged.  _Shucks dang it he asked._ _It sounds stupid,_ _doesn't_ _it? He_ _thinks_ _it's_ _stupid. It IS stupid. Crap, why_ _couldn't_ _I_ _have said_ _'Shrike_ _' or 'Raptor' or something cool like that?_ _Quick, dude, say something to recover._  "I dunno. I guess I just like the guys. The birds, I mean. They're pretty resilient fellows," he bluffed. "Plus, with a less intimidating name, people'll underestimate me more. It's one of my bigger advantages in fights."  _THAT WAS_ _PATHETIC AND YOU KNOW IT, YOU IDIOT. Bruce, call me on it now and_ _get_ _it over with. I can take the humiliation, just so long as you_ _don't_ _draw it out._

The millionaire nodded slowly. "Sounds good to me. I like it."

Renegade stuffed another enormous bite of pancakes into his mouth.  _HOLY CRAP IT WORKED! HE WENT FOR IT! Hoo, deep breaths, man, deep breaths. Calm down._ He gave a huff of annoyance at the sound of another question, trying to remain outwardly indifferent.  _You're_ _eating breakfast, dude. This is YOUR food, and Bruce is trying to keep you from it._

"Do you know what you want your uniform to be like yet?" Bruce asked.

 _He doesn't realize that I'm just trying to eat in peace?_ Swallowing down his food and his irritation, he replied with the noncommittal, "I've got a few ideas."

"Good. But before you take another bite and swallow exasperatedly--" Alfred chuckled at that-- "do you have a civilian name? You know, one that I can use in front of normal people?"

"Freddie Loyd," he blurted without thinking.  _Why_ _didn't_ _I_ _go with_ _one_ _of the COOL ones? Ugh, that one's lame. I suppose it would be because it doesn't have an associated criminal record yet._ _I'm_ _sure Bruce'll appreciate that in the future._

"Is that your real name?" Bruce asked with a bit of something best described as 'exasperation' in his tone.

Renegade shrugged. "At this point, I have no idea. You use enough names, they all kind of blur together 'til for all you know, you could be Aunt Sally."  _Bullet: dodged._

Bruce sighed, smiling slightly at the teen's humor.  _For the brooding fellow he is, he sure smiles a lot,_ the mercenary (ex-mercenary, whatever) noted.

"All right,  _Freddie._  What do you say you get dressed, then we can see to your new uniform."  _Crap,_ _we're_ _doing this NOW?_

xXx

"I'm stuck on these two." Renegade frowned, staring at the sketches on the table before him. The two to which he was referring were set in front of him, side-by-side for comparison. "This one is good for stealth and stuff, but  _this_ one would be  _so_  much better for making the bad guys underestimate me."  **A/N:** **Y** **ou can probably g** **uess what the second one is.**

Bruce, head resting in hand, looked at the sketches. "I think we want more practical here, chum." He ignored the weird look he got for using that word. "You'll be underestimated enough as is."

"Yeah, but... don't the pants, like, give you wedgies and stuff? Mine always did." He shifted uncomfortably at the memory.

"We've solved bigger problems than that at WayneTech," Bruce said, smirking.

 _I've_ _smiled more in the last two days than_ _I_ _have in years,_ the millionaire realized with a start.

"Okay, point taken. But if that's the case--" Renegade--  _Robin, Freddie, whatever_ _I'm_ _supposed to call him_ \-- pulled three costumes out of the pile of ideas he'd already dismissed-- "these would be amazing."

Bruce groaned.  _If I do this any longer,_ _I'll_ _be as crazy as the media says._  "How about we take a break? You can take a look around the manor and think on your own for a bit while I do some work downstairs."

"That'd be cool. Wait, aren't we downstairs alread-- oh." Realization dawned on Renegade's-- Robin's?-- face. " _Oh._  Right. Riiight!  _Downstairs!_ " He gave a huge wink. " _Riiight!_ "

Bruce started toward the grandfather clock, shaking his head slowly and laughing silently to himself. "And if you get bored of exploring, there are a couple of notebooks with cases that were already solved in your room. You can see if you can solve them for yourself."

"Great. You stay down there,  _downstairs_  (wink wink), for a few hours." There was a momentary pause. "I'll be, uh, not stealing stuff," he called in a too-innocent voice.

 _He actually just said 'wink wink.'_ Bruce smiled again.  **Take n** **ote: AGAIN.**   _What is it with this kid that_ _I_ _find so....?_ He gave up on trying to find the right word.

Dismissing the thought, he sat down at the Batcomputer. He had a slightly different question plaguing him that he needed to look into.

He wasn't sure what, but he knew there was something... familiar about his new ward. Something about him...  _What is it? His demeanor? His fighting style? His smile?_

_His eyes?_

Everything about him seemed to conspire to make him reminiscent in the detective's mind as he stared blankly at the keyboard in a futile search for a clue.

_Wait a second. What if--_

He typed furiously, pulling up files from years ago. His eyes darted over everything he could find: newspaper articles, photographs, police files. Videos of a spectacular performance gone wrong. A case of a mob boss mysteriously falling to his death.

After what felt like an eternity, he found himself staring at a picture of a dark-haired boy posing with his parents. Smiling brightly, he was waving at the camera, dressed in vibrantly-colored garb befitting only a circus performer. In the background, a sign read  _Haly's International Traveling Circus._

Bruce's eyes widened. He ran a hand through his hair, drawing in a slow breath.

_I_ _t's_ __ _HIM_ __._ _

"Dick," he murmured.


	9. Introductions

"I beg your pardon?" Alfred set his tea tray down, looking somewhat offended.

"Renegade. Robin. He's.... Deathstroke somehow got to him first. He ran off that night and--"

"I haven't the slightest idea of what you are talking about, master Bruce."

"Robin. Renegade, Freddie, whatever he says his name is... he's Dick Grayson."

The old butler would have dropped the tea if he hadn't already put it on the table. "Dick Grayson?  _The_  Dick Grayson?"

Bruce nodded. "I'm not sure if he knows it himself. He seems to have buried himself in not having a real identity outside of his career. For all we know, Deathstroke could have altered, even  _erased_  his memories from before becoming a mercenary."

"Do we tell him we know?"

Bruce closed out the files he had been viewing. "Not yet. Dick could be--"

"I don't WANT to know what you guys are talking about," Robin announced as he came down the stairs, carrying the case notebooks under an arm. He dropped them next to the tray. "That's not to say I'm not curious." Upon seeing their guarded expressions, he shrugged. "Okay. I guess my imagination'll have to tell me." A moment later, he made a face and shook his head violently. "Ew. Never mind."

Bruce sighed at the unsurprisingly dirty joke. "You finished the cases?"

He nodded, patting the stack of books. "Done and done." He leaned against the desktop of the Batcomputer. "Why did you have me solve them anyway? Why not just have me study your notes?"

"I wanted to see--"

Robin interrupted him. "If I could solve them, yeah. But why not--"

"Just give you the notes to study? Because we're going out tonight, and there's a new case that I want you to try to work out yourself."

"Huh." Robin pursed his lips. "What do we know so far?"

" _You_ don't know anything yet. That's what I want you to do right now: find out what you can about what happened." Bruce stood up.

Robin looked at the computer hopefully. "Wait, does that mean... Do I get to sit in the chair?" He grinned.

Bruce picked up a glove and handed it to the teen. "Nice try, but no. I need you to get used to using this, and I want to see firsthand your skills in hacking. I've heard you're good, but that was word of mouth. I want to see for myself."

Robin slipped on the glove and wiggled his fingers. "Okay, what's it supposed to--"

A hologram suddenly sprang forth from some projecting mechanism within the glove, displaying a personal computer system (quite literally) close at hand.

"Dude, I get a hologlove?! Oh, suh-WEET mother of heaven and thank the stars up above!" Without further prompting, he started typing rapidly on the screen, pulling up the police database in seconds. "Which case? I'm guessing it's not the missing wallet."

Bruce moved to see what the teen was doing. "The museum break-in."

Robin immediately started tapping furiously, pulling up the information. "Stolen jewelry. Victorian era," he announced after nosing around in the reports for a bit. "Few traces of any intruders. This guy was good."

"Guy?" Batman asked.

"'Guy' is unisex," Robin explained distractedly.

"As opposed to 'guys'?" Batman prompted.

"Oh, that would make sense. Well, if it was more than one...  _person_ ," he said deliberately, "they would have taken more. They had access to so much stuff with as much prowess as they had, and they barely took enough for one person to carry. If there was more than that, they would have barely anything to split between them. But if it were only one person, not being too greedy, they would have a handy small fortune on their hands, and they'd be able to transport it all without much trouble." He dropped his hand to his side, and the glove automatically turned off. "You know, this kinda sounds like Catwoman," he told Bruce.

"It does sound like her work, but we can't be sure without more evidence." He  _certainly_  wasn't unimpressed by the discernment of his new apprentice. Then he wondered-- was that what he was? An apprentice? Was he a sidekick? Was he a burden? Or was he something more-- a son, of sorts? Bruce supposed that was a bit strong of a word for only having known him for a week, but the connection between the two of them was something more than just trainer and trainee.

"Is there anything else you can get from the database?" Bruce continued, trying not to think too much about it.

"Not that I know of." He lifted his hand, turning it back on, and swiped the screen a few times. "Yeah, I've got nothing."

Batman strode over to the Batmobile. "Then it's time I introduced you to a close friend of mine."

xXx

"Jim," Batman greeted.

The commissioner whirled around and took a small step back, a hand over his heart. "I will never get used to that," he muttered, half to himself. He looked to the Dark Knight and frowned when he realized that they weren't alone. "Who's that?" he asked, gesturing toward Robin.

Batman crossed his arms. " _This_  is my partner. I'm teaching him a thing or two, then he's going to work with people closer to his age." Partner, he realized, was a good word for it.

Jim still looked opposed to the idea. "He's just a kid!" he exclaimed. "He can't be much older than--"

"Commissioner," Batman interrupted. "I'm aware of his age. Trust me when I say that he's better off with me."

Jim sighed, but resigned to his loss. "You said you wanted to know about the theft?" He pulled a folder out of his trench coat and handed it to the Bat, who opened it and looked it over. "This is everything we have."

"Not much we don't already know." Batman handed it to Robin, who flipped through the thin stack of pages.

"There were scratches on the glass and a nearby vent," Robin offered. "We didn't know  _that_  before."

Batman nodded. "We're going to the scene to see if the police missed anything."

Jim turned around to go inside, but stopped. "Are you sure--" He turned back to face the two vigilantes, but no one was there. "Serves you right, turning your back on them," he muttered to himself. "It still comes as a surprise to you."

xXx

Robin chuckled. "You do that every time?"

"Nearly. It boosts the 'mysterious' factor of Batman a lot."

Robin gave him a sidelong glance. "That sounds like something  _I_  would say."

"Hiya, Bats," a woman's voice crooned.

Robin looked over and saw none other than Catwoman leaning closely toward the Dark Knight. He made a face. "What's the holdup?" he asked Batman, who had stopped to make conversation with the thief.

"Who's your sidekick?" Catwoman asked, tilting her head inquisitively.

Robin huffed indignantly. " _Sidekick_?"

"This is Robin. I'm training him in detective work," Batman explained.

"Oh." Catwoman stroked her chin thoughtfully. "Do I know you from somewhere?" she asked the teen.

He shrugged, still not past the 'sidekick' comment. "I've been around," he said vaguely.

Batman made a note of that.

"Going somewhere?" Catwoman asked Batman seductively, making Robin curl his lip and turn away.

"We're going to investigate a theft, if you'll excuse us." Batman brushed her hand away from his face and stepped away.

Naturally, she still tagged along.

"Do you have a girlfriend, Robin?"  she asked.

"Can we  _not_  talk about this now?" Robin asked as he leapt between rooftops, trying to keep up with Batman.

"Ooh, sensitive topic?" she asked from behind and to the side of him.

He glared at her from the corner of his eye. "With people I don't trust, yes."

She straightened behind him. "Well, what do  _you_  want to talk about?"

"One time I stole the Prime Minister's identity. That was fun."

Catwoman raised her eyebrows. "Really?"

"I ordered him a bunch of furniture and modern art. There was a huge investigation. But guess who didn't get caught?"

Catwoman seemed skeptical. "Really? You stole the Prime minister's identity, and all you did was order him some junk?"

Robin tried to hide his smile, albeit unsuccessfully. "It may not have been entirely appropriate for a prime minister to own."

Up ahead, Batman stopped on the roof of the museum to wait for them to catch up.

"Is the Prime Minister the only identity you've stolen?"

Robin laughed-- no,  _scoffed_. "Absolutely not! One time, I got access to one of the board members of Queen Consolidated's personal phones, and I called Oliver Queen, just for giggles. He answered with, 'What's shakin', sugarcheeks?' I couldn't even answer, I was laughing so hard."

Catwoman laughed. "'What's shakin', sugarcheeks?' What on  _Earth_ \--"

"I don't even know. And it was a dude's phone! And Oliver... okay, he's not the straightest arrow in the quiver. But still!"

They reached Batman. "Catwoman, I'm having you stay here. We need as few people as possible contaminating the crime scene, and I need to teach Robin without you muddying evidence."

Catwoman huffed. "Fine. I see how it is." She ran off, leaping off the roof.

They could hear a grappling gun firing off. "Did she have a grapple gun before?" Robin asked.

"She borrowed mine," the Dark Knight answered. "Without permission."

Robin chortled. "Really?"

Batman crouched by the skylight, preparing to open it. "When we get down there, look around, but don't trigger any alarms. I disabled the motion sensors, but proximity alarms will go off if you go too close to the exhibits. So don't get too close, and you'll be fine."

"Just to be clear: I  _can't_  steal stuff?"

Robin wagered no one had ever earned as many Batglares as he did.

Once Batman had made it clear that  _no one_  would be stealing  _anything_  tonight, they leapt down into the museum.

Robin immediately lost any sense of purpose that he'd originally had. There was just too much stuff for him to focus! One minute he was staring at a five-thousand-year-old vase, the next, he was doing his best not to pick up an ancient Egyptian necklace. For a boy of his attention span, a museum was not the best work environment.

Eventually, Batman managed to rein him in.

He directed the impertinent teen's attention toward the case that once held the now-stolen jewelry. "What do you see?" he prompted.

Robin studied it for a moment. "I see the scratch marks from the report." He glanced at the wall. "Same as next to that vent."

"Is that all?"

He examined the case. "There's a neat circular cut through the glass, which is probably how they got the jewelry. Very neat. Practiced, or using a specialized tool." He scanned the ground around the case and didn't see anything. Below the vent, however, "Scuff marks." Upon inspecting them more closely, he turned to Batman and gave an agitated sigh. "From high heels."

"Yes, it was her," Batman confirmed. "I'll talk to her another night."

"If you weren't having sex with her, you'd confront her tonight," he muttered under his breath rebelliously.

Batman ignored his comment. "Seeing as that case was completely open-and-shut, I figure we ought to do something else before we head back to the cave." He pulled out his grappling hook.

"Wait, didn't she take yours?"

"I always have a spare." He rode the line up to the roof and, when Robin landed beside him, continued, "I've taught you a lot over the past week." He started to run, forcing Robin to sprint to catch up. "I figure it's time for you to join the Team."

Robin almost plummeted to his early death from a rooftop. "Really? Already?"

Seeing that the teen hadn't fallen, Bats continued, "I don't see why not. You've learned all you need to know. All you need now is interaction with people your age."

He knew it was part of the Plan. He'd known all along that he would have to go on and join them eventually. But at the same time, he desperately wanted to stay with Batman and keep learning the ways of the Dark Knight. It wasn't the Plan. It wouldn't do much to further any of Deathstroke's other plans. But he was absolutely fascinated with the ways of the Bat.

And, of course, there was the matter of not knowing how to interact with other teenagers.

Batman leapt from the roof, using his cape to slow his descent, and landed in the Batmobile. Robin followed closely behind.

"Are you  _sure_  I'm ready? I mean, I haven't been with you all the long, and--"

"I'm sure."

Robin decided then that it was time to shut his mouth.

The Batmobile shot forward like a bullet, pressing Robin back in his seat from the G-forces. He couldn't help grinning, and out of the corner of his eye, he saw the corner of Bruce's mouth turn up ever so slightly.

As his body adjusted to the momentum of the car, he turned to face Bruce. "Have you ever had Belly Buster Burger while you were on patrol?" When Bruce shook his head, Robin leaned over. "Have you ever considered it?"

xXx

Needless to say, the gangly, acne-faced cashier was speechless at the sight of the Batmobile pulled up to the all-nite drive-thru window. When the boy seated next to the masked vigilante asked for extra ketchup, he nearly leapt out of his skin, not having seen the other presence in the sleek black car.

Many guffaws were stifled that night.

xXx

Batman steered the Batmobile into the cave, Robin licking grease and milkshake off his fingers.

"That was amazing," he declared.

"It certainly was enjoyable," Bruce agreed.

Alfred watched in amazement and skepticism as he saw the two interact. Apparently, he had gone unnoticed so far, and he could see how happy Robin made Bruce.

Bruce pulled off his cowl, not unsmiling. "Alfred, could you get us some tea?" Nothing went unnoticed with Batman around.

"Of course, Master Bruce." He went to do as he was asked.

Robin got out of the car, pulling off his mask. "Oh, that was a blast!" He started toward the computer, but then stopped.

Next to the mannequin that held the batsuit during the day stood another, smaller dummy. Exactly Robin's size.

Robin's jaw dropped. "Is that... what I think it is?"

Batman strode toward it. "That depends."

Robin's brow furrowed, and he sounded confused. "On what?"

"On what you think it is," Bruce answered with a smirk.

Not even bothering to be upset over the joke, Robin ran over to it. "It's a display for my suit! I'm... I can... You're saying I'm--"

"Part of this. You're a part of the crusade. Of course, you'll be staying with the Team for a long time, but I figure that, when you're ready, you can live with me more permanently. Go to school. Have a life. If that's okay with you."

Robin ran a slow hand through his hair, gradually drawing in a deep breath of disbelief. "This is... It's actually..." A small laugh escaped his lips.

Before he realized, before he even knew what he was doing, he had wrapped his arms tightly around his guardian. For a moment, Bruce was surprised and uncertain how to react. But it didn't take long for him to return the embrace. Robin felt a strange prickling sensation in his eyes as he felt a sense of comfort he hadn't known in--

He withdrew sharply, frowning at the jumble of unfamiliar sensations and memories that crisscrossed his mind. What were these strange recollections? They were buried in years of training and forgetfulness until he could barely glimpse them. That's what they were: unreachable.

But why would he ever forget such wonderful things?

Bruce's comment drew him out of his thoughts. "What, too tough for a hug?" he asked jokingly.

Robin wiped his nose, which was oddly runny. "No." He cleared his throat of the weird lump keeping him from speaking normally. "Thanks."

Batman placed his cowl on his own mannequin. "Go get some sleep. It's a big day tomorrow."

Robin nodded and compliantly went upstairs.

Alfred set the tea tray beside Bruce as he sat down at the computer.

"That was heartwarming," the butler said with a smile.

Bruce turned on the computer and started typing. "He's a good kid, Alfred. He's got a good heart. He just needs a positive influence."

"More like six," Alfred corrected gently.

xXx

Robin lay in bed, sprawled across the entire mattress. For several nights, he'd slept in his blanket cocoon, but as he'd adjusted to the large bed and room, he'd gotten more and more comfortable in his sleeping positions until he took up the entire queen-sized space.

But now, despite his comfort, his head shook in his sleep, his small sleeping form tossed and turned restlessly, and his mouth formed words he hadn't spoken in years.

" _Tati_ ,"it whispered.

And he dreamed of a simpler time, of a beautiful, brightly-colored chaos.


	10. The Calls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bunch of people on Wattpad kept pestering me to do this chapter, so I decided to make it to hold them over for the next real chapter.
> 
> That's pretty much it.

Deathstroke had taught his apprentice a lot. But what stuck with the pre-pubescent protege the most was how to use others' identities and accompanying phone numbers to fulfill his goals. The main reason for  _that_  was that it didn't only apply to work.

"...hello?" The man on the other end of the phone sounded absolutely dead tired.

"Hello, this is Jake from State Farm."

"...I don't know any Jake from State Farm."

"I'm a representative calling to let you know that the network has been hacked. The full extent of the hack hasn't been fully assessed quite yet, but if you can tell us your basic account information, we can more easily find out what's missing or copied from the database. Do we have your compliance, Mr. Wayne?"

There was an unusually long pause. "...yes?"

"Excellent! Now bear with me here; this will take some time..."

xXx

"Oliver?"

"What's up, Bruce? Are we saving the world again?"

That took him aback for a moment. "No more than the usual, Ollie."

The millionaire on the other end of the line chuckled. "So what is it, then? Having a spiffy party?"

"No, I just need a bit of a... strange favor."

"Name it."

He cleared his throat quietly. Bruce's voice was hard to impersonate. "Just some information on your employees."

xXx

"Oliver Queen speaking."

"Mister Queen, have you had the displeasure of meeting Bruce Wayne?" Despite how it may have sounded, the raspy, old-ladyish voice he was using on the millionaire was fairly easy for him. "He is by far the worst man I have ever met in my life, and I cannot abide a man who associates with a disgusting dirtbag such as Mr. Wayne running the company that provides so much to our beautiful city."

"Woah, ma'am, slow down." He sounded confused. "...how did you get this number?"

He could barely stop himself from laughing as he continued, "I am telling you, young man, if you associate with that scumbag Wayne, I can promise you that you will lose all support from me  _and_  my friends, and I will unleash  _every_  form of bad publicity upon you  _and_  your business!"

"Ma'am, ma'am, please, calm down. I can promise you that there is nothing of that sort to complain about in my company."

"Young man--" He stopped speaking. He had started laughing, and at this point, his cover was absolutely blown.

"Who is this?" Oliver had clearly caught on to the shenanigans.

"It's Nobody!"

"I don't know who you are, but I'm fairly sure you aren't Odysseus."

"Of course you get the reference." Still, he didn't use his real voice, instead, donning a nasally, obnoxious tone. "A rich jerk like you knows  _everything_."

"Okay, I'm going to hang up now."

"NO! Please, sir!" This time, he just sounded like (what he guessed to be) a slightly older version of himself. "I just wanted to talk to the famous Oliver Queen and--"

"Goodbye." He hung up.

He looked at his computer and did a fist pump. The conversation had been just long enough to clone the millionaire's phone.

Time for some fun.

xXx

Group: Meetings Peoples

Me: _Meeting tomorrow @ 7 pm_

CEO group:  _Why_ _are you texting us this instead of calling?_

Me:  _feeling under the weather_  
 _Need to give my voice a break for 2morrow_

CEO group:  _This_ _is rather unprofessional_ _of_ _you._  
 _We will have some words about_ _this_ _tomorrow._

"They will. Without Ollie even there. And now to fabricate some tax fraud... hmmm,  _this_  guy looks like a cheater of the federal government."

xXx

"This is Tony Stark."

"Sorry, wrong number!"

xXx

"This is Tony Stark."

"Oh, sorry, wrong number.

xXx

"Tony Stark here."

"You owe me a Ferrari."

"What? Hello?  _Hello?_ "

xXx

"Lois Lane, Daily Planet."

"Are you aware that Superman is capable of completely destroying this planet if he decides to? Heck, he could do it on accident! Miss, if you think that this man is totally benign, I'm sorry to inform you that you are wrong."

"I believe you have the wrong reporter. Let me hook you up with my editor. He'll know who you want to talk to and-- hello? Hello?"

He changed his voice to a coarse growl. "If you know what's good for you, you'll drop the case."

"Sir?  _Sir?_ "

xXx

"This is Jimmy John's. What can I get you?"

"Yes, Jimmy, I'd like thirty of those catering thingies you do. Send it to Barry Allen's place. I don't really care when. Just... sooner than later."

" _Again_ , Barry?"

"Psh, yeah. Of course. A guy's gotta eat."

"What meat?"

"I don't really care. Assorted, I guess."

"Anything else?"

"Nope, that'll do it."

"I assume you'll be paying upon delivery?"

"Yessiree."

"See you then."

"See you."

xXx

He wiped his eyes, trying to catch his breath. "Hoo, boy. That's fun. Now, let's see about that Prime Minister Challenge I heard about in some dark, unreliable corner of the Internet..."


	11. Social Interaction

Robin walked down the stairs, rubbing his neck with one hand. Alfred placed a plate of breakfast casserole in front of him as he rotated his shoulders and blinked the sleep out of his eyes.

"Are you all right, master Robin?" Alfred asked.

"I'm fine," Robin reassured him. "Just slept weird, is all."

"Good morning, Alfred, Robin," Bruce greeted as he came into the kitchen. Robin stared at him. "What is it?"

Robin blinked. "You're still in pajamas."

Bruce looked down at himself. "sure enough, I am." He chuckled. "I took today off to introduce you to the team."

"In your pajamas?"

"I won't be in my pajamas  _then_." He noticed Robin's unusually disheveled appearance. "How'd you sleep?" he asked.

"Some weird dreams, is all. I can't remember them, though. I kinda want to, but I don't really feel like the effort."

"I can teach you how to meditate to remember," Bruce suggested.

Robin shook his head, picking up his fork to start devouring the delicious breakfast before him. "Nah, it's no biggie. Plus, I need to get ready to go meet the team."

"All right," Bruce conceded. "Then you'd best get finished eating so you can start with your other preparations."

Robin didn't really follow what he was saying, but nodded and stuffed another forkful of casserole in his mouth. Not a minute later, he had devoured the entire plate of food and dashed upstairs to do heaven-knows-what.

Bruce sipped his coffee thoughtfully. "What  _is_  it with that kid?" he asked Alfred.

Alfred set out another plate for the millionaire. "To which trait are you referring, master Bruce? His apparent constant rush? Or his manner of eating which makes one think that he hasn't eaten since the turn of the century?"

Bruce picked up the fork and took a bite, frowning slightly. "That's just it: I don't  _know_. Everything about him just... puzzles me."

Meanwhile, Robin was consulting his mirror about a very serious manner.

"I'm Robin, that's who," he replied to the imaginary accusing tone. "No, too much jerk, not enough normal. Try... a softer voice?

"I'm Robin!" he clarified with a cheerful tone. "Ew, no. Too happy. Don't want to give them the  _wrong_  impression.

"Robin." This voice was more annoyed. "No, still not it. Golly gee, is social interaction always this hard?" he muttered to no one in particular.

"It's only as hard as you make it," he answered himself.

"And it's not healthy to talk to yourself," he added as an afterthought.

He put on his uniform, saving the mask for last. Just as he finished getting dressed, Bruce knocked on his door.

"Can I come in?" the millionaire asked.

"Yeah," Robin called.

He stepped in. "Ready to go?"

Robin glanced around the room for anything he may have forgotten and saw very few things that he could even claim as his own, much less take along. On his nightstand was a huge vintage lava lamp that he had pestered Bruce for (it didn't take much; Bruce was and still is stupid rich), and he had plenty of clothes in his closet and antique dresser. However, he wouldn't need to bring clothes, since he would come back to the Manor at night via Zeta beam (which was quite the discovery for him).

Just to be sure, he glanced under his bed, and he found a Batarang that must have fallen out of his pouch. Putting it in its rightful place, he stood up and turned to Bruce, adjusting his belt. "I kinda want something  _other_ than Batarangs," he admitted.

Bruce crossed his arms, although he didn't look particularly upset. "Like what?"

Robin shrugged. "I dunno. Something less Batman and more Robin. Some kind of... bird thing."

"I don't know if we can do a  _bird_ thing."

"Discs, then. What about discs? Maybe some with tactical explosives to blow up walls and stuff. Purely for practical uses."

Bruce shook his head, laughing. "We'll see."

Robin looked at him sulkily. "That's lame."

The millionaire's expression changed quickly. "Would you rather I say no?"

"Of course not!" he said quickly. "It's just... I like definitive answers."

"We'll see," Bruce repeated. "In the meantime, it's time for you to meet the team."

Robin immediately lost his confidence. "Are you sure? I mean, I haven't spent all that long with you yet. What if I screw everything up? You won't be there to fix it, and if everything goes south, the team will blame it all on me, and--"

Bruce held up a placating hand. "Trust me when I say you're overthinking it. It'll be fine. I've taught you enough so you can learn more. And what have I told you time and time again?"

Robin smiled cheekily. "Take your elbows off the table."

Bruce gave him a  _really?_ look. "Now you're mistaking me for Alfred. Come on, you know what I'm talking about."

Robin sighed resignedly. "If you can't do something, learn to."

"That's right. Remember that, now. It might come in handy someday. How do you think I survived this long? Those vultures want my head."

"Why are you calling criminals vultures? Isn't that a bit..."

Bruce gave a lopsided grin. "I was talking about reporters."

xXx

They grappled across town, stopping for the occasional mugger or robbery. Despite the time of day, there were several of each, and surprisingly, the light didn't have any impact on their effectiveness. If anything, the crooks were even more terrified to find themselves not immune to the Bat during the day.

Eventually, the criminal activity died down enough so they could actually reach where they were going.

Robin had been waiting for this for a week. He was on edge, anticipating what would happen upon his arrival. So when Batman showed him a dilapidated phone booth, Robin was certain it was all a giant prank; he wasn't going to meet the team after all, and it was all some sick joke conjured up by the Bat for a good laugh.

Batman opened the door, and Robin suddenly remembered-- Batman doesn't joke. "I'm going to go to the Mountain to override the Zeta transmissions. I'll disappear in a flash of light. When that happens, I want you to wait three seconds after the glow disappears to step in. I'll have you admitted within about ten seconds after I arrive. Any questions?"

"Uhm, just one. Could you explain, like, everything?"

"You know enough." Without another word, he stepped into the phone booth. A computerized female voice announced, "Recognized: Batman. 02." And, as he said, he disappeared in a flash of golden light.

The only reason he didn't completely lose his cool was because of Batman's warning.

He counted three, half to calm himself.

He stepped into the booth apprehensively. He looked to the heavens, and when that didn't to anything to ease his mind, he closed his eyes and started counting. He got to seven before he felt an odd warmth envelop his body and saw the light through his eyelids. Then he felt an unpleasant floating sensation, not at all like when he dropped from a tall building. It was disorienting and nauseating. It wasn't unlike a drug that he'd taken against his will when confronting a drug lord that was invading a contractor's turf: it made him feel out of his own control.

As much as he wanted to keep his cool, he couldn't keep his jaw and fists from clenching.

But before hardly any time passed, he could feel the ground under his feet. He opened his eyes as the glow faded and saw what had to be the Mountain.

"Recognized: Robin. A02."

 _I can hack that,_ he noted before he was taken in by absolute wonder.

The room in which he'd arrived was enormous, surrounded by smooth brown rock. The Zeta tubes were in an alcove off of the main room, where a glowing blue floor beckoned him forward for a better look. He left the alcove and took in the sheer enormity of the cave; it wasn't as big as the Batcave, but it certainly gave it a run for its money. The ceiling had a camera-shutter-like aperture in the center, making him wonder what they had up there that merited its own nearly inaccessible room. 

He knew that Batman was standing more or less in the middle of the room with a small group of people he presumed to be the Team, but he ignored them for the moment. He was too busy being fascinated with all the tiny, irrelevant things about the cave, like how the vents were just his size, and how absolutely everything looked totally hackable.

Eventually, he figured he had to give them his attention, or else they would think he was some kind of weirdo. Which wouldn't have been totally inaccurate.

He walked toward them a few steps, allowing Batman the time to introduce him. "This is Robin."

Robin grinned cheekily, all apprehension and memory of practicing gone. "What's up?"

Aquadude (if that was his name) lifted his arms in a welcoming gesture. "It is a pleasure to finally meet you. I am Aqualad." (Right, right. Aqua _lad_.)

Artemis (of  _course_  he remembered her) tilted her head and regarded him curiously. "Robin, huh?" She sounded almost skeptical, which he could understand, considering that she probably somewhat recognized him. "I'm Artemis." The look in her eye said they would  _definitely_  talk later. He figured she would figure it out on her own soon enough.

Miss Martian, sweet as she was, flew right over and offered him a warm smile. "I'm M'gann, but I usually go by Miss Martian in the field." Once she'd said that, her smile grew uneasy (for some reason), and she backed away slightly.

Kid Flash suddenly appeared not two feet away. "Kid Flash," he introduced himself with a mischievous smirk. Robin could immediately tell that they were going to get along excellently-- or terribly. He couldn't quite tell for sure yet. But something seemed familiar to Robin about the speedster. He dismissed it for later, remembering that he would be with these people for a long time.

Superboy made a minimal effort to introduce himself, pointing a thumb at his chest and saying gruffly, "Superboy." (Right, because he totally mistook him for Wonder Woman.)

"Pleasure to meet you all." Robin gave a dramatic bow.

Artemis' jaw dropped, and Robin knew that 'soon enough' was then. He smirked at her, and her mouth clapped shut. Her eyes narrowed, and he knew that the conversation she had non-verbally told him about had just grown in size and significance.

Batman interrupted their meet-and-greet. "Robin will train with you for the day, then he'll come back with me for the night. Any questions?"

Kid Flash raised his hand. "What kind of training?"

Batman turned partially toward him. "That's up to you five."

They looked shocked. "Us, sir?" Aqualad asked tentatively.

"Yes. You'll figure out what he needs to learn about fairly soon." He stepped into the Zeta tube. "I'll be back later." He disappeared in the characteristic golden flash of light.

Everyone looked at Robin, but he was just as puzzled as everyone else.

"So... wanna hang out?" Kid Flash asked him. Everyone (excluding Robin) glared at the speedster. "What? I just wanna get to know the guy."

Robin shrugged. "Sure, why not?"

"Wanna watch a movie?" Kid Flash asked. Robin shrugged again. "All right, I'm in an Avengers mood. Let's go!" He started toward the door that led out of the room.

"...what?" Everyone stopped at Robin's question.

"What, what?" the speedster asked back.

"What do you mean... you're 'in an Avengers mood'?"

Kid Flash sounded confused. "You know, in a mood to watch the Avengers."

"Oh," Robin said quietly. That answer had left him more confused than before.

M'gann sensed his confusion. "You know, the superhero movie?"

Robin shrugged, trying to hide his discomfort from being completely ignorant of what they were talking about. "Let's just watch it."

Kid Flash's voice was quiet with disbelief. "You don't know who the Avengers are."

"So what?" Robin asked defensively.

"They're only one of the biggest brands on the PLANET!" The redhead pinched his nose. "Wow, Bats was right. We know  _exactly_  what training you need." He grabbed Robin by the arm and dragged him into the TV room. "Movie marathon! Someone make popcorn, because this poor kid probably hasn't had any of that either." He sat Robin down on the couch and started turning things on. "Let's get this thing going!"


	12. Chats

"Recognized: Batman. 02." The teleporter flashed brightly, and the Dark Knight stepped out of the alcove.

Robin was ready to go when he arrived. He had a new notepad on him listing every book (comic and otherwise) he needed to read, along with emails to use to contact select members in their free time.

"Are you ready to go?" Batman asked.

Robin shrugged. "As ready as I'll ever be." He fiddled mindlessly with a batarang, twirling it between his fingers.

Batman looked toward the team. "We'll be back tomorrow." He turned back to the teleporter, and Robin followed him into it. As he felt the familiar warmth envelop him, he turned back and raised his hand in farewell to his new comrades. He wasn't sure they could see him, and he couldn't be sure of anything with the bright light around him, but he thought he could see a couple of them wave back.

Then he was in that awful place of floating, unable to see anything, only aware of the sheer  _nothing_ around him. He hated it just as much as the last time; the only difference was that he knew what to brace himself for. But, fortunately, he could feel his feet coming into existence on the floor in the Batcaveunlocked the Batmobile and jumped in. Once Robin was sure he had a hold of himself, he jogged to catch up and hopped in himself. "Now what?" he asked. "Patrol?"

Bruce half-turned to him. " _You're_  going to go back to the manor. You need the rest after your  _training_ today." Robin opened his mouth to reply, but promptly shut it again. They both stayed quiet for a moment, but then Bruce broke the silence. "How was the Team?"

Immediately, the day's events came spilling forth like a torrent. "They're so cool! We watched a ton of Avengers movies, and it's so cool how they fight these huge armies of invading aliens and as they're in life-or-death situations they're still joking and having fun as a team! They-- the team told me about so much that I need to catch up on, and in our free time, we're going to watch a bunch of TV shows and movies and stuff. They gave me this list of books I need to read, and some of them sound  _reeeeaaallly_ good. There's also some videos on there, but that's not that big a deal. But what I  _did_ get was KF's and Artemis's emails so I can ask them some questions when I think of them instead of waiting for the next day. And they made them just for this, so they don't have to worry about me knowing their identities or anything."

"That's good. You need to communicate with people your age."

"Uh-huh. So now I can ask them which movies we're planning on watching tomorrow."

"You probably won't have another full day off like that, but you might have some free time eventually." They pulled into the Batcave. "And I had Alfred open up the library, in case you wanted to grab a few books to read before you go to sleep."

Robin rubbed his chin thoughtfully for a moment. "I might just have to take you up on that offer." With that, he hopped out and disappeared up the stairs in a heartbeat.

Bruce chuckled, shaking his head. "What was that all about?" he asked Alfred, pulling up files from the Batcomputer.

Alfred set a tray of food and tea next to the keyboard. "I'm sure I don't know, sir."

Robin skimmed the shelves, quickly figuring out how the books were organized and learning which ones were secret passageways. It didn't take long for him to find the ones that he was looking for, gathering the large stack in his arms and carefully carrying them to his room.

He got into his pajamas (sure, he was spoiling himself, but the silk felt really nice) and crawled into bed, leaving only the lamp on his nightstand turned on. He opened the first book on the list the Team had given him and started reading.

_Look, I didn't want to be a half-blood._

He was planning on just reading the first couple chapters to start out and then getting a good night's rest, but it wasn't long until it was midnight and he had yet to stop. He was engrossed, and he found himself totally invested in what was happening. He had never been sucked into a story like this before, and it took his breath away.

And then he finished the first book. He knew it was late, he knew that he shouldn't start the next one, but--

The floorboards creaked as Alfred stepped outside his room. He quickly snapped off the lights and slid down under the sheets, pretending to be asleep. He could hear the door open quietly, and a small beam of light from the hall fell across his face. Alfred sighed softly, then shut it. The beam disappeared, and Robin decided that it would be best to just go to sleep now and not deal with any more investment.

xXx

Bruce was startled to come down the next morning to see Robin eating breakfast with his nose in a book.

"Good morning," he said, picking up his own plate.

"Mm-hmm."

He set it on the counter. "How's your breakfast?"

"All right."

Bruce poured himself a cup of coffee. "Is that a good book?"

"Yup."

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the counter. "My hair's on fire."

Robin's eyes briefly flickered above the edge of his book to glare at Bruce, then went back to skimming the page. "Okay."

Bruce chuckled, leaning back again. "I figured you might want to read those books. I've heard they're popular with people your age."

"Mm-hmm."

"Do you want me to stop trying to talk to you?"

He didn't look up this time. "Yes, I do, as a matter of fact."

"All right then." He took a bite of the omelet Alfred had made, nodding appreciation to the butler's cooking. Glancing at Robin's plate, he saw that it was only half empty. "By golly, we've figured out how to get him to eat more slowly."

Alfred started washing the pan he'd used to make breakfast. "It's a miracle."

Robin gave up on trying to silence them then.

Bruce took a sip of his coffee. "I have to go to work today, so I'll have to drop you off by the booth, if that's all right with you."

Robin finally lowered his book. "I can get there myself," he said tentatively.

Bruce shook his head. "You're forgetting the fifty-foot rule."

Robin groaned. "I thought I was finally getting some leniency, here!"

The millionaire tilted his head, pondering this. "Well... I suppose if you convince me, I could have the zoning program allow you to travel back and forth from the Manor to the booth."

Robin's eyes lit up. "How can I convince you?"

"That depends."

"On what?" he asked impatiently.

"On whether you plan on exploiting it eventually."

Robin looked offended, putting a hand to his chest for flair. "I  _beg_ your pardon!"

Bruce held up his hands in surrender. "Joking. Just joking. I'll have it set up by the time you get into your uniform."

Robin stuffed what was left of his omelet into his mouth and raced up the stairs, book forgotten. Bruce picked it up and read the back. Setting it back down, he commented, "I'm not sure why so many people like this series."

"Why don't you read it to see for yourself?" Alfred asked.

"This is the second book, and it was spoiled for me years ago anyway." He set it back on the counter. "I'll take his word for it." He pulled out his phone and started typing.

Less than two minutes later, Robin came thundering down the stairs. "Are you done yet?"

Bruce shut off his phone. "Yes, I am. But don't blame me for any bugs, mister I'm-constantly-in-a-rush-to-get-nowhere."

Robin pouted. "Well,  _I'm_ sorry for not sitting on my a--  _heinie_ twiddling my thumbs and waiting for something."

Bruce smirked. "Nice catch." Robin stuck out his tongue. "And you shouldn't be electrocuted now when you leave, assuming you stay on course."

Robin pulled on his gloves. "Nifty."

"And  _do_ try not to draw attention to yourself," Bruce told him before he could leave.

"Always!" he called over his shoulder as he jumped out the nearest window.

Bruce sighed. "Let's hope I don't regret this."

Robin hopped on the motorcycle he had claimed (to some protest) earlier that week and revved the engine. He grinned as he felt the familiar power under him just itching to rocket forward.

He gunned it.

He shot forward out of the garage, pavement whizzing by underneath him. The wind whipped his hair from his face, pressing against him, challenging him to fight back. He resisted the urge to go as fast as the bike would allow, but did indulge himself slightly in speed.

He listened to the purr, bordering a roar, as he wove in and out of traffic.

He'd nearly forgotten how much he loved riding motorcycles, be they his or not.

He felt his com buzz in his ear and tapped it. "Yello?"

"I just wanted to make sure you knew that I'm keeping track of you and you keep getting awfully close to going outside the parameters of the route," Bruce told him.

"I like living on the edge."

"Is that why you aren't wearing your helmet?"

Robin glanced behind him and saw it resting precariously on the edge of the seat. He shoved it on as best he could with one hand. "Of course I am."

"Mm-hm. You might want to turn here, or you're going to get zapped."

Robin yanked the steering to the side, barely making the turn. "A little more warning would be nice," he said irritatedly.

"You're welcome," Bruce answered cheerfully.

"Yeah, yeah," Robin muttered at the honking drivers. "I know it was stupid, but my guidance system sucks. Chill."

"When you get there, Black Canary will be waiting to talk to you."

Robin glared back at a driver that had flipped him off. "About what? The effects of deafness on one's social life?"

"You. Your life so far."

He narrowly ducked under a flying traffic cone. "Why would anyone want to talk about that?"

"So she can get to know you."

"And so she can evaluate what kind of threat I am," Robin added. He didn't sound bitter; he was just stating what he knew to be true.

"Aren't you perceptive," Bruce chuckled.

He was relieved to find himself in a momentary pocket traffic. "Anything else I need to know?"

"She'll also want to assess your combat skill. You'll spar with her after you talk, then you'll be free to go."

Robin frowned slightly. "She won't do the scream thing, will she?"

Bruce laughed again quietly. "Don't worry. She'll just spar with you a bit to get to know your style. That way she can teach you and figure out where you'll fit into the team in combat."

"That's... comforting."

"And after that, you'll have a training exercise with the team to learn how to work together."

Robin smirked. "I think the movie marathon did that just fine"

"In a  _combat scenario._ "

He slowed as he pulled into a smaller street. "I retain my opinion."

Bruce sighed audibly. "I'm sure you do."

Deciding to change the subject back, he asked, "What kind of training exercise?"

"Black Canary will tell you after you finish sparring."

"Bruce, you can't keep me in suspense like this!" He waited for a response, but got none. "Bruce?" He sighed. "Of course he hung up."

He hid his motorcycle behind a dumpster and went into the teleporter. This time, though, he kept his eyes open. Even as he felt the unpleasant, panic-inducing floating sensation, he was fascinated by the small particles of light that floated around him, seeming to dance before his eyes.

When he arrived at the hideout (if that was what it was), one fist was clenched, but his other arm was lifted slightly, as if he'd subconsciously tried to reach out and touch the dancing fireflies.

"Hello, Robin," a voice greeted. He turned and saw a blond woman in a surprisingly provocative outfit with her hands on her hips.

"You're Black Canary? I thought you were... buffer." He actually did have a vague memory of seeing the heroine once, and he suddenly felt like his memory wasn't nearly as good as he'd thought.

She smiled. But it wasn't happy; it was  _intimidating_.  _Geez_ , she had an intimidating smile. "I'm afraid I'm not quite as  _buff_ as some people imagine."

Robin frowned slightly. "But you're still too buff to be a therapist. Because that's what you are, right? Some kind of therapist? Trying to talk me through my 'traumatic childhood'?"

Black Canary crossed her arms comfortably. "If that's what you want to call it, sure. I'm your therapist."

Robin looked at her skeptically, one eyebrow raised. "I don't really trust therapists."

"You don't have to tell me anything you don't want to. Batman just wanted me to talk to you; you don't need to say anything."

Robin gave a sigh of resignation. "Fine."

"Good." She turned and started to walk down one of the hallways leading from the blue floor. Not having much of an option, Robin followed her.

She opened a door off of the corridor and walked in, sitting down in a plush green chair. She motioned for Robin to sit in the one across from her.

He looked at it for a moment, then sprawled comfortably over it, leaning against one armrest with a leg over the other. "So now what?" he asked.

Black Canary crossed her legs and leaned back. "We talk."

"About what?"

"Let's start with something simple." She thought for a moment. "Tell me about yourself."

"I thought you wanted something simple," he laughed. Then he shrugged. "I'm Robin. The kid who got away. The mercenary with no name. The ninja of the night."

"That sounds like something you made up."

"Oh, absolutely. I just don't have very much tell you with that vague of a prompt."

Black Canary (he decided to call her BC at this point) sighed and rested her chin on her hand. "All right, how did you come to be a mercenary?"

"Deathstroke taught me."

When BC realized he wasn't elaborating on his statement, she prompted, "How did he teach you?"

"He showed me how to be a mercenary."

BC pinched the bridge of her nose. "All right, let's try this a different way. What are your thoughts on your upbringing?"

Robin shrugged. "Efficient."

"In more than one word."

"It was efficient."

"What did you think of Batman taking you in?"

"I'm pretty sure he's got a few manipulative motivations, but hey, I'm a fine one to talk."

BC sighed.

After a while of similar question-and-answer discussion, Black Canary decided that they'd had enough talking for the day. She stood up. "Time to spar," she told Robin.

Robin stood eagerly and followed her outside, back to the blue circle on the floor.

BC removed her jacket. "Are you ready?" she asked.

He shrugged. "Ready as I'll ever be." He slid his foot into a ready stance.

When BC didn't seem to be making a move anytime soon, Robin swung a right hook that could have probably taken out any unsuspecting thug on the street.

But guess what the Black Canary wasn't?

She grabbed his arm and spun him around, slamming into the ground. He grunted as he felt the smooth, cool surface of the floor against his face. He could hear some kind of beeping, and a red light shone somewhere next to him.

"Let's try that again," BC offered. She helped him up, and he stood ready.

This time, he tried a roundhouse kick to her upper torso. She grabbed his ankle and half-pushed, half-pulled him down to the ground. If he wasn't as much of an acrobat as he was, he would have pulled or torn one of the vital muscles in his leg, which meant she'd gotten a decent idea about him from Batman-- good ol' Batsy.

He landed hard, and she helped lift him to his feet again. After the third time he wound up on the ground, Black Canary realized what was going on.

"You're holding back," she told him.

"I'm learning."

She looked amused. Robin supposed she thought he'd meant he was learning not to hold back; he was actually learning her style without giving his own away in the process.

She helped him up, and this time, he figured he was ready.

He let her strike first this time. He deflected her first strike, then dodged the second, allowing himself inside her guard. He struck her in the stomach, then used her shoulders as a springboard to flip over her and--

He wasn't ready.

She grabbed him in midair and yanked him down. He yelped as he found himself reacquainted with the weird blue floor, and he mentally berated himself for not seeing that coming.

Again.


	13. Team Bonding. Or Not.

"This is lame."

Kid Flash grinned in response to Robin's complaint. "Trust me, this is WAY better than some of the other exercises we've done. A couple of them were excruciating."

Robin chuckled, dangling by his knees from a tree branch. "I'll bet they were."

"What're you even doing up there?" Artemis asked with some audible disdain.

"Waiting for you guys to make up your minds. How are we going to do this?" When they didn't answer, he dropped down from the branch and continued, "We need a strategy. How about I go on the offensive, Zippy is defensive, and Artsy is flex."

"Flex?" she asked, her confusion evident in her expression.

He shrugged. "You know, whatever works. Whatever we need."

"Wouldn't I be better on the offensive?" Kid Flash argued. "And what did you just call me?"

Ignoring his second question, Robin smirked. "I won't get caught."

Kid Flash crossed his arms. "Does it look like I'll get caught?" He briefly vanished, then reappeared holding a small branch from the pine tree a hundred yards away. "I'd like to see-- Robin?" The teen was gone.

Creepy laughter echoed around them. "Our three minutes' planning time is up."

Artemis grinned at the speedster. "Have fun defending!" She ran off to patrol the area.

The newly dubbed 'Zippy' huffed and glared at the red flag he now had to guard. "Of course."

Artemis stopped in the shade between two rather large oaks, staring at the river that served as the border between their sides, searching for any sign of movement. She had an arrow on the drawstring and her bow half-drawn and ready to fire.

A quiet rustling from somewhere above her drew her attention to the trees above her. She took careful aim at a slight movement of the branches and almost yelped when a voice issued forth from just behind her.

"Whatcha aiming at?" Robin asked in his annoyingly chipper voice.

Artemis glared at him. "Very funny, Boy Wonder."

He grinned back. "So you've heard my nicknames, then."

She sighed. "Robin, since we're alone now--"

He couldn't keep himself from smirking. "Gee, Artemis, I didn't know you were that kind of girl."

Her mouth opened for a cutting response, but then she noticed his expression. After a short moment of quietly seething, she finally said, "I need to talk to you."

The boy crossed his arms. "About what? Because I can hear the flag gloating."

"I know you."

He smirked again. "Do you now?"

"Yes. And I know you recognized me, too."

His head tilted to the side. "Oh, do tell."

"Sportsmaster and Deathstroke once worked together on a contract. While they did their thing, they left their...  _proteges_ to their own devices."

"And...?" he prompted.

"We played Leagues together. I made you be the Justice League, and I was the League of Evil."

"I never understood why you didn't just go by the Injustice League."

"Because it sounds dumb." She realized what he'd said. "So you admit it!"

"I never denied it. I just let you reach your own conclusion."

Her head lifted slightly in a nod. "What happened to get you to switch sides?"

"I'm here against my will." He pulled his glove up a bit to show her the wristband.

She stared at it in disbelief. "Seriously? It took an electric tether to get you to stop working for an abusive criminal?"

Robin's expression became unreadable. "The flag is calling," he said coldly, then vanished back into the treetops.

Artemis sighed quietly.  _Undying loyalty indeed._

Robin made his way to the blue flag. He could see Aqualad and Superboy guarding it, standing on opposite sides of it and facing away from each other.

After making a few quick mental calculations, Robin got ready to fire his grappling hook and swing between them at the first opening he got. He waited for them both to look away, then--

Yes, now was his chance, while they were distracted. He fired the gun into the fork between two thick branches and swung, scooping up the flag as he passed and landing on the ground in the shade of a beech tree. He crouched, waiting for Superboy and Aqualad to come after him, but they didn't. They were still staring at something--

"Kid Flash!" Robin practically screamed. The red flag was hovering dangerously close to the river boundary, no doubt controlled by Miss Martian. "What are you doing, you idiot? Get over here!"

The speedster appeared about thirty feet downriver from the flag. "Where is it?" he yelled, not seeing Robin or the banner.

Robin ran his hands through his hair in frustration. "It's right over there! Use a brain cell for once!"

Kid Flash looked around in confusion. "Over where?"

Robin threw his hands in the air in frustration. "Well, it's too late now! We already lost!" The flag had crossed the river, and he could now see Miss Martian beaming at Superboy and Aqualad-- mostly just Superboy.

Robin sprinted to the river and leapt across the six-foot bed. He went right up to Kid Flash. "You  _idiot!_ You had one job, and you managed to screw it up!"

The redhead looked stunned by the sudden barrage of insults. "I defended the flag!"

"No, you didn't!" Robin scoffed. "You lost it!"

"All right, let's calm down--" Artemis interjected.

Robin held up his hand to stop her and continued berating the speedster. "You dolt! You probably ran off to chase a butterfly or something! If that was an actual mission or something--"

"Robin," Aqualad said firmly. The boy scowled at the ground. "It was only a game."

"Oh, so NOW it's not a training exercise," he muttered dangerously.

Artemis rolled her eyes. "We  _get_ it, you're super competitive. Calm down."

Robin took a deep breath, trying not to snap at her as well and tell her that telling an angry person to calm down was like pouring water on a grease fire.

"All right, time to come in," Black Canary's voice announced from the mountain. They all made their way back, Robin reminding almost everyone of a toddler throwing a fit. He had his arms crossed and dragged his feet the entire walk to the headquarters.

Black Canary was waiting for them at the entrance. "Your teamwork could use a bit of work," she started.

Robin stormed past her. "Tell Zippy to get his head in the game, then we'll talk."

"My head  _was_ in the game!" Kid Flash snapped. "I just fell for the most basic trick in the book. Miss M made some bushes move, and I checked it out, and when I turned around, the flag was gone."

Black Canary nodded understandingly. "It's a human mistake."

The redhead stared after Robin. "Tell that to him," he said grumpily.

"He'll come around," she reassured him. "Just give him time."

"Time that he'll use to wring our throats," he whined, not entirely exaggerating. Black Canary looked at him skeptically, and he sighed. "Fine. But still, he's only going to hate us more."

"Only if you only give him reason to hate you more."

Kid Flash glared at the ground. "Fine." After a moment of feeling Black Canary's gaze boring into him, he sighed and trudged after Robin.

"Robin?" he called, expecting him to be not far ahead. "Can I talk to you?" He peered into doorways as he passed them, but the dark-haired teen was nowhere to be seen. The speedster frowned as he reached the kitchen. Did this kid seriously just disappear?

"Fine then." He grabbed a bag of popcorn and turned on the TV, putting in a game and sitting on the couch. "That's what I get for making an effort to be friendly." He hit Start and continued his game where he'd left off the day before.

"Take that, goon scum," he muttered as he buttonmashed and shoveled another handful of popcorn into his mouth.

"Wallomancer420?" a voice behind him asked. He whirled around to see Robin staring at the screen with a slight smirk. "What kind of name is that?"

"Don't hate on the name," the redhead said grumpily, his eyes narrowed at the intruding teen.

"You're taking a lot of damage," Robin said simply, not looking away from the game.

His head whipped back around. "Come  _on_!" He resumed his buttonmashing. "Thanks a lot. You distracted me."

Robin hopped over the back of the couch. "You're welcome." He sat cross-legged with his hands in his lap.

"Could you not?"

"Could I not what? Sit here?"

"Watch me play. It's uncomfortable."

"Nah, I'm good." He saw the bag of popcorn on the couch between them. "What kind is that?" he asked.

"White cheddar or something like that." 'Zippy' huffed in frustration as he used his third health pack in the last minute.

Robin popped a piece into his mouth, watching the character on screen flail around aimlessly. There were so many enemies that matter what he did, he always ended up hitting one or another. "Who are you fighting?" he asked casually.

"The Templars. Have you not played Assassin's Creed before?"

"I've heard of it. That's about it, though."

Kid Flash finally killed the last virtual enemy. "You wanna try?"

Robin looked at the controller in the speedster's hand for a moment, then shrugged. "Sure, why not." He took it and inspected it for a moment, then started pressing buttons seemingly at random.

"What're you doing?" the redhead chuckled.

"Figuring out the controls,  _Wally._ Though you're probably a Wallace or Walter or some dead name like that."

He blinked in surprise, unsure of what to respond to first. "Wha-- How--"

Robin smirked as the hooded character hopped and spun in circles. "Wallomancer? Seriously? Not that hard to figure out."

"It's not a dead name," Wally grumped.

"Yeah, it is. How do I stab people?" Wally gave him a distrustful look. "In the game," he added to avoid confusion.

Wally patiently explained the controls to him, though he was still somewhat uneasy. It wasn't long before Robin was running around, climbing buildings like a natural.

"It's more fun in real life," he said offhandedly as he did a leap of faith.

"Hm. You know, you're not awful for playing for the first time. You haven't walked off the edge of a building yet, which is saying someth-- wait, turn around! You're going into a super high-level area!"

Robin ignored him and continued walking around the area. "I'll just sneak past the guys."

Kid Flash tried grabbing the controller from him. "You don't know how to do stealth yet!"

The younger teen held the remote just out of his reach. "Come on, it can't be that bad."

"Hey! You're not supposed to be here!" someone shouted in the game.

"Dude, give it back! You're going to get me killed!"

Robin smirked. "Watch me."

"That wasn't a challenge!" Wally snapped. He grabbed the controller back just in time to see the word "Desynchronized" appear onscreen. "Come on, man! I was trying to be nice!"

Robin crossed his arms. "You don't get to trust me until I trust you," he said, still looking fairly smug.

Wally slammed the controller onto the couch beside him. "What's that supposed to mean? That you get to be a jerk just because you don't know me very well? Dude, I gave you my email! That was supposed to be--"

His smirk faded. "What, a sign of trust? You gave me a way to ask for comic book recommendations without knowing any of your personal information. But trust me, if I wanted to, I could figure out everything about you just like that." He snapped his fingers. "But I don't. And you know why? Because of this." He held up his arm so Wally could see the band around his wrist. "It's the only reason you're not dead on the floor and I'm not on the other side of the country right now." His eyes narrowed, and he leaned forward slightly. "So watch it, Zippy. You've only got one life."

Despite their gap in stature and the somewhat corniness of the threat, Wally was leaning back away from him with an alarmed expression. "All right, all right, geez! Calm down! No need to go all... serial killer or anything."

The smug look returned. "That's what I thought." He stood up, grabbing a handful of popcorn. "Thanks for having me." Wally could have sworn Robin winked at him before walking off.

"I swear I'll never understand that kid," Wally muttered as he picked up the bag of popcorn and put it back in the kitchen. He came back to the couch to turn off the game, but found that it was already off. He furrowed his brows in confusion, then noticed the scribbled "R" symbol on a sticky note where the controller had been a moment before. "What the heck, dude?" he murmured, then shook his head and went to the souvenir room to reorganize his trophy collection.


	14. A/N (Conclusion)

All right.

You've made it this far.

I owe you something.

But all I've got is a replacement.

See, I've written myself into a lot of corners with this story. Nothing was working, and I was losing inspiration, so I did the only reasonable thing.

I made a new book.

It's called Out of Reach, and I was planning on it being a sequel to this, but I never finished this. So it's more of a rewrite than anything.

Thanks for reading, and I'm sorry if you were particularly interested in this specific plot. But I'm 90% sure the new one has an ACTUAL original plot that not everyone has done before. So I think you'd like that, and I'd appreciate it if you checked it out.

You guys are great, and I love all the support and hope y'all have a nice life.


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